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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182497">A Not So Sudden Realisation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/12gs/pseuds/12gs'>12gs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>DumbleBashing, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, How Do I Tag, I don’t own Harry Potter, I'm Bad At Tagging, Other, Remus Lupin is a Chaotic Gay Presence, Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Severus Snape Lives, kinda ooc snape won't lie, pls dont sue me, ronbashing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:08:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,857</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182497</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/12gs/pseuds/12gs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Changes creep in over summer. Severus is forced to shift his worldview in a very short space of time. Harry gains a father. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"C'mon, Harry! It's Friday! Then the weekend's here, then we're home!" Rolling his eyes, Harry turned to the potions classroom and sighed. Turning to the class their delightful potions master proclaimed "Instructions are on the board. You will make a calming drought. I trust you are all literate? Get on with it, then!" Harry went for the ingredients, avoiding Malfoy's outstretched foot, while the water in his cauldron simmered. He was actually fairly competent at potions, but not a lesson went by when Malfoy didn't add something to his potion or switch the instructions around. The greasy bat just turned a blind eye. This time, however, Malfoy's alteration was somewhat… explosive. Draco hadn't bothered to look at what he was about to toss in, and realised it was crushed beetle eyes. "Shit" the Malfoy heir muttered, and yelled "Duck, Harry!" With instincts ingrained from both war and the Dursley's abuse, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Tormented-By-Slytherins complied.</p><p>While the violently purple concoction settled on the desk, the potions master swept towards him with a billow of black robes. "Detention, Mr. Potter" he hissed, vanishing the mess with a languid twirl of his wand. Hermione began to protest, saying "But sir, it was Malfoy! He put" "I know what was added to the cauldron, Miss Granger. I also believe that it was Mr. Potter's mistake. Unless you would like to incur a significant point loss for your house, I suggest you end your protesting." Every Gryffindor in the room glared at Snape. If looks could kill, the professor would have dropped dead instantly. Unfortunately for them, he didn't.</p><p>A short while later, Harry stalked angrily toward the dungeons. How would the first class git explain the detention this time? Everyone from Hogsmeade to kingdom come knew it was Malfoy's fault that the potion exploded, so why was he being punished? The dungeon door woke him from his reverie, and he knocked a little harder than strictly necessary. After an eternity or three, he heard a drawled "Enter". He strode in with a defiant air and faced his professor.</p><p>Staring down Snape as best he could, he asked "How many cauldrons this time, sir?", lacing it with as much sarcasm as he dared. "I believe 15 should be sufficient, Mr. Potter, don't you?" was the smooth reply that the professor deigned to bestow upon the less than repentant Gryffindor. Spinning on his heel with a flair Snape himself would be proud of, Harry strode to the sink and began his task, tuning out the bat's steady stream of insults. He was used to the general theme of his rants, and was also far too aware that by ignoring the insults, the volume of them would increase steadily until Snape snapped and either gave up or started examining the cauldrons in a desperate attempt to find fault. Should so much as a fingerprint be found, he'd end up in another detention or down 20 or so points, should previous patterns be anything to go by. </p><p>Snape, however, was not putting his whole heart into his traditional lecture, not even registering that his rant was being steadfastly ignored. He was instead, rather curious. Firstly, at how the child could replicate his mannerisms so accurately- that twirl had taken him years to perfect. However, Harry's obvious ease at the repulsive task also triggered some level of confusion. Why wasn't he flinching at the scalding water, the cauldrons, or the caustic cleaner? Most students put on gloves after they realised how strong the stuff was. He'd never noticed that the 14 year old never wore them, but upon reflection, the potions master realised that the little idiot hadn't done so once in all his time there. Moreover, how in the hell was Potter getting them done so efficiently? Nobody, not even the most seasoned detentionee, had managed 5 cauldrons spotless in 5 minutes. Severus decided that washing up must be the boy's only chore at home, pampered prince that he was. They obviously decided anything more strenuous was too much for their delicate little saviour, he concluded, refusing to even consider any alternative explanation for the dunderhead's familiarity with the the repulsive task he had been set.</p><p>By the tenth cauldron, Harry was a little bored. It was no more difficult than Aunt Petunia's usual pans, bar the lack of handle, and he had already performed the git's favourite detention task on numerous occasions. Even the cleaner wasn't as strong as the bleach Petunia made him use. So, Harry decided to listen to the insults, as they'd give him something to focus on other than his Aunt. He wasn't expecting "pampered little prince" though, and let out a harsh snort without realising. "Something amusing to you, Mr. Potter?" murmured Snape, dangerously. "I'm as far from pampered, Professor, as you can get" thought Harry, appreciating the sheer irony of the situation. But he remained silent, merely seething beneath a bored mask. "Honestly, boy, I enjoy a joke as much as the next twit. Care to inform me what was quite so droll about my speech?" Inwardly, Harry cringed at the use of the term "boy", as it was all too reminiscent of Uncle Vernon's speeches, leave alone feeling utterly demeaning. However, he merely quirked an eyebrow in a manner eerily reminiscent of Severus' own trademark expression, and turned back to his cauldrons, proud he hadn't flinched at Snape's obvious anger. It was the last day before the holidays, he thought. Not quite as reassuring a thought as it should be, but something to cling to none-the-less. If only he knew how interesting the holiday could, and would, turn out to be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Beginnings of an Interesting Holiday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a good couple of weeks until Harry noticed anything, which would have been surprising had he been anyone else. However, Aunt Petunia would barely give him a minute to use the bathroom, leave alone stare in a mirror. No, it was the lack of his aunt raging about his hair that led Harry to suspect something. So, during his general clean of his Uncle's bedroom, a spare moment was used to glance at the small pink nightstand that Petunia loved so dearly. At first, nothing seemed off. Then, Harry realised that his hair was far straighter than usual, with just a gentle wave. Continuing his short self-examination, it was found that his fingers seemed a little longer, and that his face was less round.</p><p>Confused, Harry dismissed this as the usual changes found when growing older. Naturally, on Dudley's diet weight would be lost, explaining his face. And growing would change his fingers, wouldn't it? Of course, hormones might alter your hair. Shrugging, he continued to scrub the nightstand and then made the bed absentmindedly.</p><p>Meanwhile, Severus was also allowing his mind to wander. He was reminiscing on his childhood with the help of a large glass of scotch, and sulking (although he preferred the term "brooding") by the fire. "Stupid Potter, if it wasn't for him-" His slightly drunken rant was cut short by his wards buzzing incessantly. "ALRIGHT, I'm coming, I'm coming…" grumbling, he strode to the door and swung it open to find the irritatingly cheerful face of Remus Lupin staring back at him. "Sev! How are you!" "What in the seven hells are you doing in Hogwarts, wolf? Moreover, why are you in my quarters?" Severus growled, causing Lupin to wince a little at the close proximity. "Well, I just so happen to have a teaching position. So-called curse meant they couldn't find anyone. So I've been brought back in. You know, to avoid the ministry dumping someone on the school?" Rolling his eyes, Severus invited the damnable creature in and allowed him to sit down.</p><p>"So, how've you been? I know I only missed a year, but still, lots happened. How did the tournament go? I meant to watch it, but they wouldn't let me, said it was overcrowded." Severus took the brief opportunity to cut in as the overenthusiastic defence teacher took a breath. "I've been fine, the tournament was stressful, and yes it was very crowded." He took a sip of his drink in preparation for the barrage of questions he was sure to face. "So, have there been any more staff changeovers? I mean, the whole Moody thing aside, I got that tale as soon as Alastor reached Grimmauld. Speaking of Alastor, are you coming when we take Harry? Tonks caught dragonpox, sad really, but she'll recover. Also, d'you" "Oh for the love of Merlin Remus, one question at a time!" Severus was in for a tiring night.</p><p>"BOY! GET YOUR SORRY SELF DOWN THESE STAIRS! NOW!" The boy in question flinched at the eldest Dursley's yell, and walked swiftly and quietly with a practiced efficiency to the hallway to meet the formidable form of his enraged uncle. Vein in his forehead throbbing, Vernon's meaty fist swung and made contact with his nephew's nose, producing a sickening crack. Knowing better than to speak, Harry hung his head submissively and attempted to mask the intense pain he was feeling. "Why are my shirts not hung on the left side of my wardrobe, idiot?" Uncle Vernon demanded. "Sorry sir. I thought you said the right side, sir, I didn't mean to be impertinent, sir," Was the harried reply. "Well listen better, thicko! Bloody spawn of a drunk, I shouldn't have expected any more from you. You'll get nowhere in life with parents like yours boy! Twenty will suffice today." Harry accepted the proffered belt and trailed to his room, the heavy breaths of his uncle following him. He knew it was more likely to be thirty once Vernon got into his stride.</p><p>Eventually, the saviour of the wizarding world was left in peace, to treat his stinging back. He had borrowed- well, stolen- some of the pain relieving potions from Madam Pomfrey, and had learnt the recipes to several pastes to treat cuts and bruises; ones that didn't need a flame or cauldron in particular. He did his best to clean the welts, and breathed a sigh of relief as the paste worked its magic. They weren't too bad this time. Dragging himself off the floor, he went to rectify the cause of his punishment. Again.</p><p>Severus Snape also breathed a sigh of relief, as Lupin left his room. It was about time really, as conversation had turned to more unpleasant topics, such as his deep seated hatred for James Potter. Contrary to the wolf's naïve belief, it was no schoolboy grudge. He had no idea the lengths that Potter reached to torment him, or the true pain he had felt with every hex. No, that particular hatred ran deep and wide. It was irrevocable. Or so Snape attempted to convince himself.</p><p>It had been years since his thoughts on the Potters had been called into question, 12 to be exact. Not even Dumbledore had dared attempt to convince Severus that James may have had his good points. No, the old fool had some semblance of self-preservation. So how dare that blasted creature have the arrogance to suggest that Severus Snape, youngest potions master since records began, and spy on behalf of the order, be wrong?! It was simply inexcusable. Full of self-gratuitous rage, said potions master paced the length of his room. Maybe Potter did have his good points… he had funded the order for several years almost single handed… what was he doing! He simply couldn't think such things. It was plain wrong. And with that thought, he trawled to his room to find peace at the bottom of a bottle of Ogden's Finest.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Everything Could Be Better</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Severus awoke from his alcohol induced slumber with the familiar headache and dry mouth. With a groan, one sleep heavy hand reached out for his water, knocking it off the dresser in its haste. Swearing quietly, Snape stumbled from his bed and found his way to the bathroom with little to none of his trademark poise. After a shower and an obscenely large cup of coffee, the potions master felt able to manage human interaction, and with that thought he paced to the fireplace in order to contact Mad-Eye, with the intent to find out just when he was expected to accompany the ragtag bunch of wannabe aurors to the Potter brat's luxurious home to "rescue" the boy. Snorting at the thought of the pampered prince-who-lived actually requiring rescue, he flung a handful of floo powder into the fire. </p><p>While his professor was completing said tasks, Harry was also steeling himself for human contact. However unlike his professor believed, he was in dire need of rescue. Wincing as the welts on his back complained at the sudden movement, he crawled out of the cupboard he had been relegated to. His uncle had discovered that he had managed to treat his injuries, and had delivered the biggest thrashing he'd ever received. Nobody could have survived the beating that Vernon wanted to give him though. Petunia had stepped in to tone down the eldest Dursley's rage somewhat, citing the benefits they received for tolerating their nephew's presence. Without the herbs he'd secreted in his old room, Harry was left to manage the pain with a little water and willpower.</p><p>Making breakfast, all sorts of thoughts went through the suffering boy's mind. Firstly, how in the hell did one make an egg that was runny, but not runny, as his delightful cousin had requested. Secondly, what was the protocol from here? Harry wasn't stupid, he knew that the beatings his uncle were delivering could be-should be- classed as child abuse. But how the fuck could anyone know about it? Rita Skeeter would have a field day, Molly would smother him to death, Remus would blame himself, Snape would taunt him with the information… shit. What if Snape did find out somehow? The ministry might as well sign the death certificate for one Harry James Potter there and then. Cause of death? One too many sarcastic comments led to Harry's unsuccessful attempted murder of Professor Snape, who slaughtered him in overenthusiastic "self defence".</p><p>Unaware of his fictitious crime, the felon in the making was turning over his hash browns while contemplating jumping from a fourth storey window to avoid the task set by Albus Dumbledore. Merlin, the man thought nobody had a life! How the fool could believe that everyone could just up brooms and go at 5pm- BROAD DAYLIGHT- to fetch a boy who wouldn't want to leave the damn house anyway, the professor had no idea. Groaning, he realised his breakfast was utterly carbonised. Throwing it away, the disaster was added to the litany of things that Potter would be punished for upon return to Hogwarts. A little cheered by this prospect, the bat of the dungeons began preparing a fresh breakfast while debating punishments that he could legally give.</p><p>Harry shivered. His uncle's fist bore down on him, and he braced for the inevitable impact. Another rib, he mentally added to the tally. And another. There goes a knee, hip, shoulder. Falling to the floor, the Boy-Who-Lived fell into the welcome blackness of unconsciousness while Vernon and Dudley's blows hammered into him.</p><p>"Mundungus, quit your chattering! This is serious! We may know the child's aunt and uncle are away, but he may still be in some level of danger! Take this seriously! Oh for Merlin's sake, don't start shivering now!" Alastor Moody's bark rang through Grimmauld like a gunshot as Snape approached the window through which they would leave. As soon as everyone had mounted their brooms, they left in perfect formation. Gliding over London, Severus thanked every deity there was for the invention of a disillusionment charm that covered brooms as he stole a glance at the pedestrians below.</p><p>Harry was a crumpled heap on the floor still. His inhalations were shuddering rattles, and a desperate wheeze accompanied each exhale. They were the only sounds in the house, as the Dursley's had left for their "Lawn Competition". A slight rustle betrayed Hedwig's indignation at being trapped in her cage as she awoke.</p><p>After an eternity of flying over the motorway, Moody indicated that they should turn left. Cursing ensued from everyone as they realised that it meant passing through low cloud. Kingsley spoke up, pointing that they were invisible anyway, and the seasoned auror relented. Swerving, they reached what he assumed was the Potter brat's estate. Dismounting, they put their brooms into a charmed box that the wolf had set up the previous week, and removed the charms on themselves. Walking visibly avoided the necessity of watching out for other people, and the questions raised if someone bumped into a muggle accidentally. Even better, Potter would see them coming and have more time to worry. The thought elicited a smirk, and the double agent caught up with the others.</p><p>"This place is like a rabbit warren!" Mundungus whined as they picked their way through turn after turn on the estate. "Shut up, 'dung. We're nearly there." Was Kingsley's exasperated reply, accompanied by a stinging hex curtesy of Moody. A glare from Severus was the professor's contribution, and Remus strode on, ignoring Mundungus' complaint. "Look, Privet Drive. We just gotta find number 4 now." "Merlin's sake Remus, do you have to be so loud? We might have a tail! Or spies nearby!" hissed Mad-Eye urgently. Rolling his eyes at the man's paranoia, the blasted wolf just checked door numbers placidly. "14, 12, 10, 8, named house, garage, 4! Here we are! Number 4, Privet Drive" Severus looked up at the house that was the apparent residence of the boy saviour. No lights were on, and he couldn't hear a TV. Maybe the brat was outside.</p><p>As they strode in, a stench of blood hit their noses. Remus visibly cringed as he announced, to everyone's horror "It's Harry's. MOVE!". They split up. Severus' mind raced as they looked in bathrooms, bedrooms, closet, the kitchen, dining room. It seemed impossible to fins the source of the smell. Congregating in the hallway, they began to announce theories and stories, everyone's opinion was being weighted in. "SILENCE!" Moody screamed, daring them to continue talking. "I believe we should-" Then, a rattle and wheeze was heard from under the stairs. Disbelievingly, they opened the dingy cupboard to find the child-no,-brat on a worn baby's mattress covered in blood. "Shit."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. An Understanding Is Approached</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Remus was the first to move, after they stood dumfounded at their discovery. He sent a patronus to Hogwarts as Severus shook off his stupor and scooped the damn boy up in his arms, apparently forgetting who he was. The group strode down Petunia's spotless hallway in a collective fury, and Moody swung the door open and the mismatched gang vanished with a sharp and urgent crack of apparition.</p><p>"Poppy? POPPY! We're here! Hurry up!" Madame Pomfrey swept down the corridor of the unforgivingly white infirmary, professional mask firmly in place. Pointing to a bed to direct the still somewhat stunned Snape, she shot spell after spell at Harry, her face dropping with each one. Shooing Mundungus, Kingsley and Moody from the ward, the two professors leaned over the bed to read the reports from the spells, and began to gather potions and ointments to assist her.</p><p>Hour after hour passed by, as Harry fought for his hard earned life yet again. He responded with a groan at best, utterly oblivious to the flurry of action around him. The bat of the dungeons became the hermit of the hospital wing, much to everyone's surprise. The truth of the matter was that the potions master felt somewhat guilty. He believed himself responsible for delaying the rescue of the boy with stubborn insistence on believing his apparently delusional fantasies of a pampered and delightful homelife. The ex-death eater did not want to believe that he had anything- anything at all in common with the chosen one. However, looking closely at the ch-brat, he even spotted physical similarities. They both had black hair, the boy's formerly rotund face had thinned (no doubt thanks to the Dursley's tender mercies) showing high cheekbones. His hair was growing too, giving the eerie resemblance more prominence.<br/>

The dungeon bat's musings were brought to a sharp halt by a groan from the bed. The ch-idiot was waking up. "Deigned to return to the living, Potter?"</p><p>Harry was awoken by a sharp eye staring at him. Blinking wearily, he was greeted by his least favourite professor. However, the lack of usual malice was not lost on Harry, and vague memories of a black cloaked man carrying him induced a slight blush. "Why am I in the hospital wing? Has term started?" "No, Mr. Potter. The order decided that you were to be taken to headquarters. We found you half dead. Perhaps you would enlighten us as to why?"</p><p>Severus made his move in the verbal tennis match. He was not above the use of legilimency, but he decided to allow the boy a chance to explain. He did not expect the violent flinch that Har-the Potter boy produced, and was further astonished by the child crawling up the bed to get away from him. "No no no… I just… I… fell. Down the stairs. Yes, that's it, I tripped, hit my head… that's all. That's it." If Snape had not been alerted to the fact he was lying by the constant denial, the boy's body language would have given it away in an instant. He wouldn't meet the professor's eyes, in a blatant attempt to avoid legilimency. Oh, if only occlusion was that easy. "So, if I were to ask your uncle, he wouldn't tell me that he had beaten you senseless for attempting to heal your previous beating?" While the outward expression was carefully schooled, Snape mentally cursed up a blue streak. It was not a one off. Fuck.</p><p>"It was just a bit more than I could manage. That's all. I shouldn't have healed it, it was wrong of me…" The boy's murmur's tailed off. "Potter." No reply. "Potter". Silence."Harry". Startled a little by the use of his first name, he looked up. "I do believe that you should understand that it is futile for you to even attempt to lie to me. So I ask again. Was this the work of your uncle?" An almost imperceptible nod of the head was Ha-Potter's reply. Why Snape kept thinking of the idiot by his first name was beyond his understanding. With a sigh, Severus turned to the child in the hospital bed, suddenly struck by an unfamiliar wave of something. Pity, perhaps? No. More empathy. Ruthlessly squashing the feeling as soon as it had come, he spoke in a clinical, detached tone. "Very well. Now, the question is, where shall we put you over summer?"</p><p>"I guess back at the Dursley's? I don't want to be a burden on anyone… they were just a little excessive this time, that's all…" Harry replied, warily. He knew Snape would be annoyed if he suggested anywhere else. "I would sooner take you in my-fucking-self than send you back there, you dunderheaded idiot! They were abusive! Why can't you understand that? You are 14, Potter. You cannot honestly believe that your home life resembled normal in any way, can you?" Harry was taken aback by Snape's response, but defended himself anyway.</p><p>"Well… not normal exactly. But I was dumped on them; they didn't need another mouth to feed…" Exasperated, Severus nearly slapped the boy out of his delusion. Instead, he did something he never in all his life believed he would do. "Harry. You are not the only child to go through this. You cannot seriously think that Hogwarts has never seen a case of abuse before? There are procedures in place. I understand them with far more intimacy than most. Get some sleep. Tell Poppy when you wake up." "You too?" the boy whispered, as though he believed it was a lie.<br/>
Snape had been abused? Snape? Really? Damn, they actually had something in common. Harry's mind raced as he asked for confirmation. "Yes." Was the clipped reply bestowed upon him as the formidable professor left the room in a billow of robes.</p><p>Severus' heart raced as he left the hospital wing. Tales of an abused childhood would race through the student population as soon as they arrived. But then again, would they? He was fairly sure that the world had dropped out of orbit as his opinion of the Potter brat was forced to change.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Confusion on All Fronts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry's mind reeled as he led back on the less than comfortable hospital bed. Why had Snape told him? Reflecting, he realised he'd never actually spoken to the man outside of an educational setting, so maybe he was just a little less caustic outside of term time? He shook his head. No. The professor had put him through three years of hell, he wasn't getting over it that quickly. With that, exhaustion from his ordeal overtook him and he fell into a fitful slumber.</p><p>Meanwhile, the cause of his distress was having a similar mental debate. What had he been thinking? The Potter boy was clearly going to have a field day with the information, while he might not spread it around, he would still know and that was more than enough. But he was not the spoilt brat he had thought him to be, and didn't that make Severus quake in his boots. He'd been targeting an abused child. He had been trying to take down a boy who had less self esteem than Peter-fucking-Pettigrew. He was a monster. He knew he'd finely cultivated a reputation of being a heartless bastard but surely, he wasn't quite that much of an arse? Gods, he needed a drink or ten.</p><p>All too soon, the next day arrived. Then the next. Harry lived in a haze of naps, pain, dreamless sleep, and an endless cycle of guilty looking professors. The one he (surprisingly) most wanted to see, however, didn't show for a full week. When the potions master did arrive, it was a somewhat more awkward conversation than Harry had imagined.</p><p>Snape moved towards the door of his chambers in a blaze of righteous indignation, fuelled by his own foul mood and a roaring hangover. That fucking child had managed not only to convince him he was a pampered prince full of celebrity self obsession, but in a truly Slytherin move had managed to enrage Snape to the point he never looked any closer than he had to. And he had fallen for it. He was furious. However, he worked through it as he made the long walk to the hospital wing, and managed to cool off almost entirely by the time he reached the doors. That recovery ended rather swiftly however as he opened said doors, and found that the child on Harry's bed looked like the spitting image of a 14 year old Severus.</p><p>Harry looked up to see his Potions professor swing open the hospital wing doors, take one look at him, and turn immediately to enter Madame Pomfrey's office. He then heard his generally stoic professor utter the most confusing, rambling sentence he'd ever come across, but the meaning of which could be boiled down to "Why in the name of fuck is there a 14 year old me in the hospital wing?". After pondering the five or six new curse words he'd just learned,  Harry felt a shock of adrenaline as he realised he was the only person Snape could be referring to. He clambered out of the bed to find the nearest mirror. Glancing in, he was horrified to see that the changes he'd seen over his short lived summer had increased somewhat.</p><p>His face had narrowed further, and his nose taken on a more Roman shape than before. His eyes remained their piercing green, but his eyebrows had thickened and his brow become more pronounced, which only served to make the colour more striking. He was taller, that was for certain, and he noticed that he had a more willowy build than his previous stockier shape. Finishing up his assessment, he found he was a little paler, but that could easily be contributed to his stay in the hospital wing. Harry sat back onto the bed with a huff of air. This was not going to be a fun term, because he could reach only one conclusion. His mother had a hell of a lot of explaining to do. And Snape was not going to be happy.</p><p>Harry was correct. The potions master was not happy at all. However, while Harry was terrified of Snape rejecting him, Snape was far more angry that his parenthood had been kept from him. He could have had that child out of Petunia's house far sooner, but no, someone had gone and applied fucking concealment charms all over the child! For no good bloody reason!</p><p>"Poppy, to conclude, what in the name of arse is going on, and why in the hell didn't you tell me sooner?"</p><p>The matron of the hospital wing stayed silent a moment, waiting to see if Severus would continue. "Because, professor, I hadn't noticed. Quite frankly, I've been more worried about keeping Mr. Potter alive for the past week, and the changes must've come in exceedingly slowly as I truly didn't realise until you pointed it out. It's definitely obvious now that you have brought it to my attention, and to be honest, I don't see the point in the paternity charm you mentioned, he really is the spitting image of you! We'll do it for formality's sake though."</p><p>They began to discuss the nature of charms that could have such effects as they moved towards Harry's bed, and watched him a moment as he stared into the mirror from across the room. "Noticed then, Potter?" asked Severus, watching to try and assess his reaction.</p><p>Harry turned to see that they'd left the office. Arching his brow, he looked at the Professor and muttered "Not quite sure that Mr Potter is as accurate as it used to be, but yeah, I've noticed. Care to explain?"</p><p>"Well then, Harry, I'd say that your appearance explains itself. However, Madame Pomfrey has kindly agreed to perform a paternity charm to formalise our conclusions. We will assess the situation further after she has done so. Is that arrangement acceptable?"</p><p>A little stunned and more than a little confused, Harry nodded. He had just been asked whether something was okay, by the bat of the dungeons. He was speaking politely, and called him by his first name. If he wasn't still in pain, he'd be pinching his arm to check that he wasn't dreaming. Or, seeing as there was a good chance Snape was his father, having a nightmare.</p><p>He sat as Madame Pomfrey began casting and prayed to whatever deity out there was listening that the result would show that this was one hell of a Weasley twins prank. There was a little bit of him however, that wondered whether it would really be so bad.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Answers that Raise More Questions</h2></a>
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    <p>"As I expected. Congratulations, Severus. It's a boy". Poppy's dry wit didn't soften the blow though, and Severus turned to see all the colour drop out of Harry's face.</p><p>He couldn't breathe. That was the only thing he could focus on, the only thought going through his head. His hands and feet were cold and tingled. His chest ached as though he was about to die. All he could feel was a sense of impending doom, convinced he was about to die. His attention was snatched away from his certain death to a pair of cool, strong hands holding his. He began to hear Snape's voice, low and soothing, "look at me Harry. That's right. Can you tell me where we are?"</p><p>"The hospital wing. I'm in the hospital wing." Harry managed to pull his focus together enough to answer. His hands still shook in Snape's, and he just couldn't draw breath no matter how hard he tried.</p><p>"Good, well done. Can you tell me some of the things you can hear? Aim for at least 3." Confused, Harry tried to start listing. "Uh, you, sir? And-" he gasped again, trying desperately to get enough air to speak- "and Madame- Madame Pomfrey walking around?"</p><p>"Excellent. One more please?" Snape replied, and Harry focused just enough to realise he looked worried. "I can hear the clock, sir?" 

"Good, Harry. Now, how about two things you can smell?" Gathering himself, Harry thought for a moment and replied. "Disinfectant, and, I don't know, there's something herby, flowery. Sort of like the greenhouses." Harry's breathing began to even out, if a little ragged still. He felt shaky and exhausted. "Well done. I think the flowery smell is probably me, I've been brewing a potion that contains irises and rosemary." Snape responded absentmindedly, assessing Harry's condition.</p><p>Collapsing back against the headboard, he tried to dredge up the energy for politeness and failed miserably. "So, esteemed father of mine, what in the hell was that?"</p><p>Rolling his eyes, the professor replied, "I'll let that one slide seeing as you just had a panic attack, but don't expect me to be quite so forgiving next time. To answer your question, it was, as I just said, a panic attack. Otherwise known as an anxiety attack? As I'm sure you just found out, they are characterised by overwhelming fear and hyperventilation, but have numerous other symptoms." He drew in a breath as though to continue, but Madame Pomfrey came over and cut in.</p><p>"Quit lecturing him, Severus. He can find out all that when he's had a nap and some time to process, look at the state of him! All you need right now Harry is a calming drought and a good sleep. Come on now, under the covers, quick-smart!" She tucked him in in her usual bustling fashion.</p><p>Severus was far more concerned than he had let on to Potter. Well, less Potter, more Snape, he supposed. If he'd had that intense of an anxiety attack at the thought of being blood related to him, how would he react at being taken back to the manor? That was a subject to discuss another day, he decided. Although, he supposed, it'd be a definite improvement over the Dursley's suburban hellhole. For a moment he was almost grateful that the bar was so low, but recalling exactly how his son- his son! - was treated extinguished that gratitude as quickly as it had been felt.</p><p>Harry was feeling better after his millionth or so nap, but was still decidedly torn over the situation. On the one hand, he had a father, an actual alive family member! On the other, it was Professor Snape. How in the name of Merlin was Ron going to react? Hermione? Gods, they'd disown him in a heartbeat. They'd run so fast not even the thestrals could catch them. Unless… no. He couldn't think of a single way that Ron and Hermione would ever accept this. As though sensing his distress, Snape walked over. He started talking, something about visitors, but all Harry could notice was the state of his clothes. They were creased all up one side and identical to the robes he'd worn yesterday. On further inspection, he also realised that the professor hadn't shaved. Cutting off whatever he was talking about, he got up the courage to ask.</p><p>"Did you sleep here, professor? Are you hurt?" Harry was looking at him with an innocent sort of concern. "No, Potter. Why do you ask?"</p><p>"Well, sir, you sorta look like you slept in your robes and a bit like you haven't shaved. Never seen you without a clean shave and new robes on. I wondered if Madam Pomfrey had made you stay or somethin'. Are you sure you're okay?".</p><p>A little taken aback by his observational skills, Snape took a minute to answer. "I'm not hurt, I promise. I just stayed to make sure you were ok after yesterday."</p><p>With that, all Harry could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears. The professor had stayed for him. For him. To his utmost horror, tears began to well a little in his eyes and he rubbed at them fiercely as through that would erase his memory. Still disgusted at his own emotions, he managed a small "Thank you" from behind his hands and was further confused as the professor pried them away from his face.</p><p>"You're still a child, Harry. You deserve to be taken care of. Even if James was your father, I would have stayed. After knowing what you've been through, I'm rather astounded that Poppy didn't stay the night herself."</p><p>"Who says I didn't?" Came a feminine voice from the office. "How are you doing this morning dears?"</p><p>"I'm fine, Madame" Chimed both the men, looking a little surprised to have spoken in synchrony. Poppy waved her wand in their direction, a mock threatening look on her face. "If a single one of these tests comes back saying otherwise I'll have Filch string you up!"</p><p>She smiled as Harry seemed to relax a little, leaning further back on his cushions. "Bold of you to assume I'd let Filch catch me, Madame!" "I don't know Harry, he's been patrolling even on the holidays. I'm sure he'd find a way!" Snape's reply made the mediwitch smile even more. It'd been a long time since she'd heard him make a joke, even a tame one at the caretaker's expense.</p><p>"Forgot about the cat too, dear. If Filch doesn't catch you, Mrs Norris certainly might." she added, enjoying the calmer atmosphere.</p><p>With that, Madame Pomfrey turned and read the readout from the spells she'd cast earlier. All seemed as it should, although her patient wasn't totally out of the woods yet. He'd need to take another blood replenisher for one, and potentially another skele-gro depending on whether his rib strengthened up a little by the end of the day.</p><p>Harry groaned as she explained his care plan, but he did notice the professor listening intently as though she was explaining some cutting edge research into potions. As she finished her explanation, Snape coughed a little. "So, Madame, how long will he need to stay here?"</p><p>She frowned a little, doing some maths with regards to doses and clearance times. "Three days, give or take. Why?"</p><p>"Harry, in three days time, if I've managed to sort out your guardianship papers by then, would you like to come join me at Prince Manor for the remaining duration of the holidays?"</p>
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          <p>30/1/21- I've been back through and made some edits, mostly for grammar's sake. However if anyone spots a plot hole or error I've left behind, please do let me know! </p><p>Also, thank you to everyone who commented, they are very much appreciated, I just don't check on my account all that often I'm afraid. I'm working on it though!</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Putting Plans in Motion</h2></a>
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    <p>Harry spent a moment trying to figure out which part of that sentence was the weirdest. Snape had a manor? Snape wanted him to stay at that manor? Snape wanted guardianship of him? He said as much to his professor, who smiled a little as he replied. </p><p>“Indeed, I do have a manor, I just don’t tend to publicise it. I inherited it from my mother’s parents once she and my father had died. I generally stay at my quarters here and also have a small home in a town called Cokeworth that I grew up in, which most people are under the impression is my primary residence. An impression I’ve done little to correct, as it suits my image perfectly. However, I do tend to spend the longer holidays at the manor, and thought you might want to accompany once I have guardianship established.” </p><p>“And this isn’t a joke? You’re not going to suddenly need to drop me back off at Aunt Petunia’s? Harry chewed his lip as he asked, not daring to acknowledge the hope that was bubbling in his chest. </p><p>“No, Harry. Nothing will ever happen that could warrant you going back there. I promise.” Snape did his best to placate the terrified boy, and mentally imagining the various potions that he’d be slipping Petunia as soon as he got chance. As he tried to recall if he had any fresh bloodstone powder left, Harry replied, almost too quietly for him to hear. </p><p>“Yes. I’ll come.” Harry dared a glance upwards, still a little worried he was about to get laughed at or slapped. He wasn’t relishing the thought of a summer with the bat of the dungeons, but it was better than the hospital wing at least. Plus, he supposed he should probably get to know the man that made up half of his DNA a bit better, since he clearly had some sort of conscience if he was willing to take him in. If anything, he’d figure out what the hell Snape was gaining from this because it probably wasn’t wholly altruistic if previous experience was anything to go by. </p><p>The following three days were somehow both the longest and shortest of Harry’s life. He read a couple of quidditch magazines that Madame Pomfrey had managed to procure for him, and at her insistence he spent a solid third of his time napping. Most of his time was spent wondering what would come next. He hadn’t been this uncertain of his future since his life had been turned upside down by the arrival of his Hogwarts letter, and that had been an experience he didn’t fancy repeating. </p><p>Unbeknownst to Harry, Severus was having similar anxieties. While he wasn’t one to rush in blindly, he certainly hadn’t put as much consideration as he could into the matter. As such, he decided to go consult the one person he trusted implicitly. </p><p>“Minerva, I’m going to need to call in that offer of a scotch. Possibly three,” he called into the floo, “and perhaps some advice to go with it.”</p><p>Almost as soon as he’d gotten up, the transfiguration professor unfurled herself from the fireplace, bottle of scotch in hand. “What’s happened now, Severus?”</p><p>“This can’t get back to Albus yet. I’ve got to make sure he doesn’t find out til it’s too late.” As he had predicted, she didn’t bat an eyelid and nodded for him to continue. “Harry Potter is my biological child.”</p><p>“Forgive me Severus, but what have you been smoking?”</p><p>“I assure you, Minerva, I am quite sober. Harry is my son. Go visit him in the hospital wing if you don’t believe me. Madame Pomfrey can vouch for me if simply seeing him isn’t enough to assuage your concerns,” he replied, eyebrow arched. </p><p>“Very well. What exactly is it you need from me, other than my scotch? And how exactly did all of this come about? He left last term looking like a James Potter clone, so you can’t expect me to believe you that quickly,” said Minerva. Severus had to concede on that point- he’d been far more colourful in his disbelief regarding the matter, so by all accounts she’d taken it quite well. </p><p>He summarised the events of the holiday, beginning with the rescue from the Dursley’s and ending with the fact that he’d be taking Harry to Prince Manor as soon as he was fit to travel. Minerva was one of four other people who knew that he resided there, and so that was no surprise to his formidable colleague. Concluding his summary, he watched Minerva’s face as she processed what had happened. After a few moments, she settled back into her usual stoic expression and he deemed it safe to continue. </p><p>“I need a witness to sign the guardianship papers if I am to do this properly. Are you willing?” Severus asked, hoping that the fact he asked would also betray his need for a little reassurance that he’d made the right choice. </p><p>“Of course, Severus. While the fact he’s biologically yours has thrown me for a loop somewhat, I have no doubts that you will do right by the boy. If nothing else, you are a man who values his honour, and as such I know Harry will be safe with you.”</p><p>Eventually, the day arrived when Harry and Snape were to depart to the manor. He’d had his things packed at the end of his bed ever since Madame Pomfrey had said he was well enough to sit up, and so it was little effort for Harry to toss the odd belonging he had left out into a rucksack. Severus shrank the trunk and bag with a lazy waft of his wand, and they walked together to his quarters. </p><p>Harry felt slightly awkward in the silence that had fallen over them and so decided to ask some of the questions on his mind. “Sir? Why do we have to use your quarters? I think Madame Pomfrey has a fireplace in her office, doesn’t she?”</p><p>“Good question Harry. The fireplace in my rooms is the only one connected to the manor. Should you attempt to access my home through any other fireplace, you will either be diverted to my cottage in Cokeworth, or if you have ill intent then you will be thrown back out of the fire. It took a long time to set up that system since it is a complex ward, and as such is not commonly used. That’s why you might not have heard of a home being hidden in such a way before.”</p><p>He took a moment to ponder the new information. “Okay, but what if you were stuck somewhere and needed to get home quick, but couldn’t get back to your quarters?”</p><p>“I expect I would either apparate, or floo to my quarters first and then back to the manor. Speaking of, place your hand on this door please. I’ll add you to the wards on these rooms too, since I expect you may want access during term time.”</p><p>Tentatively, Harry held his left hand against the spot Snape had indicated. He half expected it to burn or sting, but all he felt was the soft tingle of magic as the Professor muttered a long, low sting of Latin. </p><p>He had to choke back a gasp when they entered the room. Harry wasn’t sure what he’d expected- something fairly puritan perhaps- but what he found was a plush, cosy living room with a warm fire already lit. </p><p>The couch was a rich purple, and as he gently ran a hand along the back, he found it had a velvet like texture. There was a shag pile rug the same colour spread over the flagstones, and he spotted a pair of slippers tucked under a matching armchair that was off to the side. The mahogany coffee table next to it had a weathered potions journal on there, a quill holding it open, as though the professor had been sat there making notes with his slippers on. Harry bit back a smile as he imagined the scene. </p><p>Severus stood back and watched as the boy quietly explored the living room, and eventually cleared his throat to regain his attention. “You will have plenty of opportunities to examine these rooms Harry. For now, we must carry on home.”</p><p>As they threw in the powder and stepped into the emerald flames, all Harry could think of was the fact that he might just have somewhere to call home.</p>
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